


going down swingin'

by bleep0bleep



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Monster of the Week, POV Scott McCall, Pining, Scott-Centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 22:23:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4496988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleep0bleep/pseuds/bleep0bleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Stiles’ cheeks turn pink. “Sorry, I ah— here.” He drops Scott’s hand abruptly, putting his  hands in his own pockets.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Oh. Scott hadn’t even noticed, it had felt so— so— natural.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Scott still hasn't decided where he's going to college yet, there may be the issue where he and Stiles have gotten into different schools, Finstock has gotten the lacrosse team together for one last senior field trip, and oh yeah, ghouls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	going down swingin'

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Teen Wolf Reverse Bang! It's been an absolute joy to work with [significantsilence](http://significantsilence.tumblr.com), who is incredibly talented and a lovely person. Thank you for creating such inspiring art and prompting Scott & Stiles feels. 
> 
> Thank you to [sourwolfandsarcasm](sourwolfandsarcasm.tumblr.com), [petals42,](http://petals42.tumblr.com) [andavs](http://andavs.tumblr.com), and [metakate](http://metakate.tumblr.com) for the read through and support!
> 
> ~
> 
> For timing of the story, assume that an alternate version of season five has taken place and passed without much fuss.

Scott is, by nature, a very neat and organized person. His homework, his textbooks, everything he needs for school is all in one designated area of his room, his veterinary textbooks from Deaton are all in that corner, exercise equipment go in the closet, clothes all get neatly hung up or folded and put away.

Right now, his floor is a mess of colorful brochures; colleges telling him he’d be a great fit, photographs of smiling students on picturesque campuses, students wearing lab goggles and pristine coats, smiling at each other.

Scott lingers on a photo of two guys, their arms slung around each other, walking through a campus quad. One’s wearing a CAL sweater, the other has the bear on his hat. They look genuinely happy, best friends— maybe more— spending time together at college, having the time of their lives.

Scott sighs, rereading the portion of the brochure on all the majors and the programs offered. He knows Berkeley would be a great place to do pre-med, even though his mom says UCLA would be a better environment— they have their own hospital, after all. But Stiles loves the idea of Berkeley, wants to go into their criminal justice program, likes that the campus is only a few hours away from Beacon Hills.

“But far enough to be another world! Imagine, we could like, have an apartment!”

Stiles’ bright voice rings through Scott’s mind, and his hands tremble as he puts the brochures down with the rest, shoves the entire pile back under the bed where it came from. He’d be looking for the pair of socks that rolled under the bed while he was packing, and he’d found them, along with the pile of college detritus from the application stage in the fall.

It’s early spring now, and Scott still hasn’t heard back from Berkeley, even though it seems like almost everyone he knows who applies has. Okay, it’s only been a few days since people have started getting the news, but it’s like every senior at BHHS has to announce where they got in as soon as they know. He knows Stiles got accepted and is really excited about it; it’s his first choice for the criminal justice program.

There’s been no news for Scott, not on the Berkeley front. It was his first choice; not just because he likes their pre-med program, but because that it was one of the schools Stiles and he had picked out together.

In one of his desk drawers is an acceptance letter from UCLA Scott hasn’t responded to.

Stiles didn’t get in. They’d gotten the news together, and Scott watched Stiles deflate and then push his disappointment behind a mask.

They hadn’t talked about it much then. At that point all of them had heard back from most of their college applications, if not most of them. It looks like everyone is headed in different directions; scattered across the country.

Scott still remembers a few months back when Kira heard back from her early decision application at Harvard; he’d been ready with a supportive speech, that he’d totally want to do long-distance, he loved her and was ready for it.

He didn’t expect her to break up with him.

“I’m practically immortal, Scott,” Kira had said sadly. “I’ve been putting this off, talking to you about it, but I think the longer I wait the more it’s going to hurt. I’m going to live for thousands of years— I can’t—”

“Oh,” Scott had said, the promises tumbling backwards on his tongue.

“I don’t want to watch you grow old and die,” Kira said, close to tears. “My mom says eventually as I get more tails I can learn to age and stuff but that’s— hundreds and hundreds of years away!”

“It’s okay,” Scott said. “I understand.”

And it was okay, or, rather Scott had been trying to be okay about it. It’s been a few months, and easing back into a friendship with Kira, still being able to see her at school and hang out with her, helped him slowly come to terms with it.

He still feels like everyone is leaving, though.

Lydia’s off to MIT, Malia’s already gone, having decided to take a year off and spend time with her mom travelling throughout Mexico, and Liam and Mason still have two more years to go in Beacon Hills.

Scott shoves his socks into the bag with more force than necessary and then throws a few more t-shirts on top of it, stuffing everything inside, zipping the thing closed.

He’s been looking forward to this trip ever since he got on the lacrosse team. The seniors always raved about how fun it was, getting to see a professional game up close, get a night on the town at Finstock’s expense. It’s Finstocks’ last hurrah for the seniors, his way of saying goodbye, taking them to San Francisco for a weekend to see the Dragons play. They all know it’s because he doesn’t have his own children, and it’s his eccentric way of spending his money and treating his students.

Scott sighs. It seems kind of anticlimactic now, after all the ridiculous things they’ve faced this year; he’s just happy they all alive.

Maybe a bit of normalcy is needed, after all.

Scott’s phone chimes with a text, then another.

_R U REALDYFDFDYFDYFDY@LJ!LI ERMGPAHRL:JGH_

_i’m outside btw_

He grins, picks up the bag and races down the stairs.

Stiles is leaning out the window of his Jeep, an eager smile on his face, waving impatiently. The familiar sight makes Scott’s heart do a little flip of joy, and he grins, throwing his bag in the back and joining Stiles in the front seat.

“No idea why Finstock made us get up at ass o’clock in the morning,” Stiles grumbles as they head towards the school.

“Traffic?”

“At four in the morning, Scott!”

“I think he scheduled us for an Alcatraz tour or something this afternoon.” Scott tries to remember the itinerary in his email that was full of too many activities and suggestions to decipher through the capslock and exclamation points.

Stiles grumbles, petting the Jeep’s dash as the engine makes an unfortunate noise. “C’mon, baby. You can do it.”

Scott watches the movement, wondering if Stiles’ fingers had always been so long.

The parking lot is dark and empty, save for the few cars in the corner from the other senior lacrosse players, and the rent-a-van Finstock got for the trip. It’s still being loaded; Finstock has his clipboard out and yells, “4:02 a.m., you’re late, Stilinski! McCall!”

“Sorry, Coach,” they chorus, rolling their eyes.

Loading the van is a struggle; eight boys’ worth of luggage and random paraphernalia; lacrosse sticks, and… Stiles’ baseball bat. (Or was it Scott’s? He doesn’t remember.)

Stiles shoves it under the seats and shuts the doors, and no one notices except for Scott.

“Why are you bringing the bat?” Scott whispers, once they’re all settled inside the van.

“Did you know San Francisco has the highest population of ghouls?” Stiles hisses back.

“Ghouls?”

“Flesh eating people lookalikes, Scott!”

Stiles doesn’t whisper, and Kevin Park turns around and gives them a strange look.

“I mean, they’re an awesome movie series, amiright? Not as classic as the Romero stuff, but, ghouls, are a decent horror movie creature.” Stiles smiles hopefully at Kevin.

“Never heard of it,” Kevin says. “Werewolves are cooler, anyways.”

Scott coughs, and Stiles just gives Kevin a thumbs up.

The freeway is practically empty, and they make it to San Francisco in good time. Finstock hustles them out of the van into the Value-Motel.

“Okay! Alcatraz! And then we’re going to Fisherman’s Wharf! Snap snap, put your luggage away and we’re out of here in ten!” Finstock blows his whistle, making the motel receptionist jump up in alarm.

The tour is pretty fun, despite being kind of morbid. It’s the kind of stuff Stiles is fascinated by, and Scott has a good time watching him bounce from display to display, reading the signs, posing for selfies with him.

They get a group shot of the lacrosse team by the bay and Scott finds himself relaxing a little. They haven’t had a moment to breathe much this year, what with the chaos of the supernatural creature splicers at the beginning of the school year, trying to engineer strange new hybrids. It’s was a difficult few months, and Scott isn’t sure how they survived, but they managed to trap the “doctors” all in stasis and make sure they don’t ever experiment on anyone ever again.

After that, there was an infestation of pixies in Beacon Hills, starting in minor pranks and escalating to all-out mayhem. Then the month with the troll. Which Scott never wants to think about again, but luckily Deaton figured out a way to dampen the effects of the Nemeton.

They’ve had a bit of breathing room, and there’s a part of Scott that should be nervous, preparing for the next thing, or even what they _should_ do once they all leave Beacon Hills.

“Scott.” There’s a steady hand on his arm. “It’s a vacation, dude. C’mon. Relax.”

Stiles thwaps him with the colorful Alcatraz brochure and Scott grabs it, getting Stiles on the shoulder with it back, earning himself a laugh from Stiles.

“You’re the one telling me to relax? You’re the one who brought a bat and was worried about _ghouls.”_

Stiles shrugs. “Look, you deserve a break. You’ve been stressed out ever since the AP exams. Just chill for awhile. Besides, ghouls can’t swim. We’re perfectly fine here.”

 

* * *

 

Scott does actually relax. He hasn’t spent much time with the other seniors on the lacrosse team much, outside of practice, and it’s nice. Danny apparently talks to Jackson once a week, who’s doing just fine in London. George just got a scholarship for fashion design, Greenberg plans to go to Cancun for summer vacation with his family and Carlos is super excited he got named in the top ten in the senior class this year.

It’s weird, how much time he’s spent worry about supernatural stuff he hasn’t paid attention much to his classmates. Not that he’s great friends with them or anything, but Scott’s known most of these guys all his life. Beacon Hills is pretty small— he remembers playing hide and seek with the Park brothers when he was a kid.

“Wait, Jun works at Beacon Hills Memorial? I didn’t know that, that’s awesome,” Scott says.

Kevin nods proudly. “Yeah, he just started doing his residency there.”

Scott grins. He’s always thought Kevin’s older brother was cool.

“He’s seen a lot of weird things, you know? Like one time he swears he saw Stiles lead a pair of masked ninjas into the hospital and started killing everyone? That time hallucinogens got leaked into the AC.” Kevin shakes his head.

Scott blinks. “Um. Yeah, hallucinogens. My mom says she saw Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.”

Later on the ferry back to the mainland, Stiles slumps onto Scott’s shoulder, and they watch the waves churning in the wind, the buildings of San Francisco stretching out in the distance.

“I thought I remembered someone familiar,” Stiles says.

Scott turns to look at him, at the old pain in Stiles’ eyes. They don’t talk about the Nogitsune often, but he knows when Stiles needs it. This could turn into a rant, or a drawn out venting session, but whatever Stiles needs, Scott’s ready for it. It’s a fairly good time for a private conversation; everyone is on the other end of the boat, out of the wind.

“I think he knocked out an Oni with a hospital tray,” Stiles says, and his lips quirk up in a chuckle.

Scott loops an arm around Stiles’ shoulders, relieved Stiles is finding humor in the memory.

“Jun was always badass.”

They don’t say anything for a long while. The wind whips Stiles’ hair around, making it dance around in little tufts, and Scott watches him close his eyes, dozing off on Scott’s shoulder. His arms are starting to cramp up but he doesn’t want to move. It’s nice, Stiles sleeping on him. It reminds him of the sleepovers they had when they were kids, curling into one another, holding each other through the night.

Scott smiles, letting his head rest in Stiles’ hair. He closes his eyes for a moment, listening to the sound of the waves, the chatter of the other students on the boat.

Someone on the bench across from them, and Scott can detect an amused scent drifting their way. He opens one eye to see Danny grinning at them.

“You know, I was always rooting for you two.”

Scott opens both eyes and blink at him. “Huh? What?”

“You and Stiles. Is this a recent thing?” Danny quirks an eyebrow at him.

“I— what— no, Stiles and I, we aren’t, he doesn’t—”

Stiles stirs a little, making a muffled sleepy noise, rubbing his face into Scott’s neck. Scott knows Stiles is just doing his… sleepy talk thing… but it looks like, it feels like, Stiles is kissing his neck, a hot tongue on his skin.

Scott’s cheeks turn red. “I, ah…”

Danny chuckles. “No worries. I know moving on is rough, and you were really down after you and Kira broke up, so congrats, really—”

“Stiles is my best friend,” Scott protests.

Danny nods. “That’s the best part, isn’t it? What’s that saying again? If your boyfriend is your best friend, you’re doing it right.”

People start clamoring from the front of the boat. Apparently there are seals, and everyone starts excitedly taking pictures. Danny stands up and grins at Scott, waving at him as he join everyone at the railing.

Scott watches them shout in delight, taking photos of the seals. Carlos nearly falls overboard, but Kevin catches him just in time. Finstock blows his whistle at them, and the other boys laugh uproariously.

“Whassat?” Stiles looks up. There’s a line of drool trickling down his chin, and he looks so confused, eyes half lidded.

It’s completely adorable.

“There’s a seal,” Scott explains.

Stiles sits upright, rubbing at his eyes. “Is it a cute seal?”

“Maybe. All seals are pretty cute, I think.”

Stiles gets to his feet to check it out, gesturing for Scott to come with.

Scott smiles and shakes his head, content to watch. His phone chirps with a text, and Scott finds a photo of Kira on the Harvard campus.

_made it for my campus visit! it’s soooooo pretty here!_

Scott snaps a quick picture of the lacrosse team on the boat, looking at seals, and sends it back to her.

**hope you’re having a good time, our trip is p nice, it would have been nice if you were here too**

_:( :( sorry my parents just really wanted me to take this opportunity to check out the campus, and they were nice enough to put all the early dec students in dorms and stuff_

**i’m happy for you**

Kira doesn’t respond for a minute, and then another text pops up.

_are you ok?_

**danny thinks stiles and i are together. is this really what other people think about us?**

Kira doesn’t answer for a minute or so, and Scott holds his phone awkwardly, watching everyone at the railing. He can hear the distant bark of seals and people laughing. Stiles has his phone out, snapping selfies and laughing.

_you love him, right? it’s not weird that other ppl can see that_

Scott frowns, beginning to type back, “like a brother,” but then his phone is pulled out of his hand.

“Scott! Come on, you’re missing out!”

Stiles grabs his hand, pulling him towards the edge of the boat, pocketing Scott’s phone as he goes. The seals are still swimming alongside the vessel, playing in the little waves that form to the side of the boat, jumping and barking. The afternoon sun shines down over the bay, the water glitters merrily, and Stiles’ smile is relaxed and content. It’s so far from the stress after the Nogitsune, and even after the more recent supernatural chaos, that Scott can’t help but grin back, drawn into the warmth of his smile.

Stiles’ cheeks turn pink. “Sorry, I ah— here.” He drops Scott’s hand abruptly, putting his own hands in his pockets.

Oh. Scott hadn’t even noticed, it had felt so— so— natural.

“Great view, isn’t it?” Stiles sighs happily, looking out over into the bay. In the distance, they can see the Golden Gate Bridge, and San Francisco sprawled out over rolling hills.

The afternoon light is warm on Stiles’ skin, giving it a soft, gentle glow. His lips look soft and kissable—

— and _what?_

“Scott.”

Scott blinks, and now Stiles is standing— even _closer—_ to him. He taps Scott on the nose, something he’s done many times before, but Scott is hyper aware right now and it’s just a finger— and

“Ah, I have to— I’ll be back!”

He darts backwards and runs off, but there’s hardly anywhere to go. There are people everywhere on the boat, a deluge of scents and emotions and salty air surrounding them everywhere.

“Scott! Scott!”

And of course, Stiles catches up to him easily.

“Are you feeling seasick? I’ve got some Dramamine in my stuff,” Stiles says.

“N-no, I’m fine,” Scott says, wondering how long he’s been thinking about kissing Stiles. Actually, great, he’s thinking about it again, and Stiles is here, stepping closer—

“Ah, okay. We’re almost back to the harbor anyways. Here’s your phone back. You’ve got a bunch of messages from Kira. You guys get back together or something?”

“No. Just.. just talking about Harvard. And other stuff.” Scott takes his phone, sighing at the notifications.

“Oh, okay, cool.” Stiles frowns. “Or did you smell something weird with your wolfy nose? Oh, oh, ghouls are supposed to smell like sulfur, was it that?”

Scott shakes his head.

“Okay. Um. I’ll just… let you get back to texting, then.” Stiles gives him a smile— the fake one— and goes back to join the others, slapping Greenberg on the back, “So, about them Mets, eh?”

Scott pushes away at the cold sinking feeling in his gut and flicks through his phone. Kira has sent him six messages.

_scott?_

_i’m sorry i didn’t mean like_

_like i don’t actually know so i shouldn’t assume_

_i mean you’re really close so it wouldn’t be weird for danny to think that_

_scott :( pls answer_

_i’m sorry_

Scott tries to compose a text message, gives up, and just calls her. The phone picks up immediately, and Kira sounds apprehensive.

“Scott?”

“It’s okay, Kira. It was an honest answer, and I do love Stiles… I’m not, like, offended or anything that people think we’re together… romantically?”

“Okay, good.”

Scott waits for Kira to keep going but there’s a pause.

“Are you? It’s okay if you are, and you like, haven’t told me because it might be weird… but I’d be happy for you and Stiles, really, like…”

“Kira—” Scott starts, and he can’t figure out what to say. In the distance he can see Stiles hip bump Danny and laugh when Danny stumbles into the railing, and there’s a faint prickle of jealousy at the base of his skull. “I— I— I’m not dating Stiles. But I think I—”

“Want to be?”

“Yeah.” It feels good to say it, to let it out in the open.

Scott feels a little lighter, at least until he realizes this is another secret he hasn’t told Stiles. But should he tell him? Wouldn’t it just make their friendship weird? And Stiles is leaving soon, anyways… especially since they didn’t get into the same colleges…

“Hey, I have to go, my dad wants me to meet some of the professors I’ll have next year, but, take care, okay, Scott?”

“Thanks, Kira.”

 

* * *

 

The thought lingers in Scott’s head for the rest of the day as Finstock takes them to Fisherman’s Wharf and lets them walk around all the shops. Stiles drags Scott into the _Ripley’s Believe it or Not Exhibit,_ pulls him around all the shops and things, marveling all the souvenir shops.

They meet the rest of the team at the Boudin Bread Factory for dinner. It’s rowdy and a little bit ridiculous, and everyone oohs and ahhs at the different bread shapes.

“I’m buying this wolf to take home,” Stiles says after, in the bakery.

“Stiles, it’s like, thirty bucks for a giant loaf of bread.”

“It’s shaped like a wolf! Come on, Scotty! Look at this lil guy! Seriously, Liam will love it.”

“I already got Liam a t-shirt.”

“Duuuuuude, I thought we were getting him presents together. And a t-shirt, seriously? That’s boring! Look, we’ll give the shirt to my dad or something, and I already got that awesome set of lanyards for your mom—”

Scott is oddly touched. “You got a present for my mom?”

Stiles isn’t even fazed. “Yeah, absolutely. Okay, so we’re getting this wolf bread for Liam, right? Just think of his little face when he sees it…”

“Aw, okay. Lets do it.” Scott bats Stiles’ wallet away and they pretend to fight over the bill for the bread, but they end up splitting it anyways.

 

* * *

 

The van pulls back into the motel parking lot. At night, it’s a lot more grim looking; quite a few lightbulbs are missing, and it smells of sweat and grease and people and… well, too many things for Scott to parse out. It’s kind of gross.

He tries not to focus on the scents, there’s something that must be rotten in one of the rooms, because it’s making him nauseous. Luckily his and Stiles’ bedroom isn’t that bad. It smells… well, mostly of Stiles, actually.

“Do you want first shower or can I?”

Scott waves for Stiles to proceed, and Stiles shrugs out of his overshirt, whipping off his t-shirt as he goes.

Stiles’ back muscles ripple, and Scott is unable to tear his eyes away for a good few seconds.

_This is Stiles… my best friend… I need to stop thinking about him like this…_

Scott flops backward on the bed. He’s always been aware Stiles is attractive, but he’s never processed how he felt about it. He’s just always been in a relationship, and he knows he loves Stiles...  it never occurred to him that he loved him that way, too.

He needs to tell him. Better sooner than later. Get the weirdness out of the way, and then they’ll have… they’ll have the summer to learn how to be friends again before Stiles leaves for college.

Or maybe the distance will be good.

“Hey, Scott! I totally forgot to bring the soap and stuff in here, it’s all on the sink, can you help me out?”

“Uh… sure.”

Scott finds the complimentary shampoo-conditioner and the soap bar on the sink and brings them into the bathroom. Stiles pulls back the curtain, wet and dripping and blinking back gleaming wet drops of water from his eyes. Scott hands the soaps over, hoping he’s not blushing fiercely, and looks down at his feet.

“I have to tell you something.”

“Okay, go for it.” Stiles uncaps the shampoo and starts working it into his hair, humming as he goes, not even bothering to pull the curtain back.

“I’ll tell you when you’re done,” Scott says, backing out of the shower.

“No way, dude, just tell me now. What’s up?”

Scott takes a deep breath and then yanks the curtain closed so he doesn’t have to see Stiles naked. He can barely think. What’s wrong with him? He’s totally seen Stiles naked before.

But it’s like now that Scott is actively thinking about it, how much he wants to be more than friends, that he’s seeing everything in a new light, and now every intimate moment they’ve had—

The curtain slides open again, and Stiles looks at him in worry. “Are you okay?”

Scott closes his eyes and backs right back into the room. “Just— get dressed. Please?”

“Alright, if my pasty white butt offends you so much,” Stiles calls from the bathroom, and from his tone Scott can tell that he’s confused, and his scent is a little hurt.

Stiles comes out with a towel round his hips, frowning as he rubs another towel into his hair. He sits down on the bed opposite Scott and makes a _go ahead_ gesture.

Scott shakes his head. No way he can concentrate— Stiles is still naked under his towel, hardly appropriate for a serious conversation.

Stiles makes an exasperated face, but he gets up and yanks some clothes out of his dufflebag, stalking to the bathroom.

He comes back out, fully dressed. “Tada! This is weird, but okay. Like, we’ve only changed and done everything together since forever so…” Stiles sits down, giving Scott an expectant look. “What’s up?”

Scott takes a deep breath. “I love you.”

Stiles’ face softens, and his lips quirk up in a smile. “I love you too, bro. What’s up?”

“No, I mean—”

There’s a piercing scream in the distance.

“What the—”

“Scott!”

Scott stands up, all his senses alert. Fear, pain, _blood_ — and that rotten smell again. Stronger this time, kind of like… bad eggs…

“Stiles— it smells like sulfur!”

Stiles scrunches his nose. “I can smell it too. Fuck. I knew this would happen.” he grabs his bat, heading for the door. “Where’s it coming from?”

Scott joins him out onto the narrow walkway, where people are exiting their rooms, looking in worry for the direction of the scream. He spots Kevin on the bottom floor, looking shaken as he sinks to the ground. Coach Finstock is talking to him, and Scott can hear their voices clearly as he follows Scott down the stairs.

“Mark wasn’t answering his text messages, and I forgot the room key when I went to get ice, and I came back and pounded on the door, and I got the motel guy to give me a new key… and there’s just… so much blood…all in the bathroom...”

Finstock looks up in alarm as Scott and Stiles walk into the open room to investigate. “Is that necessary?” he asks, looking at Stiles’ wary stance with his bat.

“Believe me Coach, you don’t want to know,” Stiles says.

The room is dingy, like Scott and Stiles’ own, but this one smells strongly of sulfur and blood. Scott can feel the traces of fear and … satisfaction? from the room, the chemosignals left. The main room appears to be empty, Kevin and Mark’s bags sitting on their beds. Scott can see a few splashes of blood on the carpet near the bathroom, though, and he steps closer to investigate. The sulfur smell here is thick, cloying, and it’s making him nauseous.

The bathroom door creaks open suddenly, and Scott tenses, shifting his claws, ready to attack.

Stiles lifts his bat in a ready stance, and then —

Mark steps forward, wet from the shower, holding a towel around his hips, fear and confusion written all over his face. He throws a hand up. “Whoa, guys. Is this some sort of prank?”

Stiles sets the bat down, narrowing his eyes. “Mark. If that is your real name…”

“Stiles!” Scott admonishes. He turns to Mark. “Are you okay? Kevin said he saw lots of blood.”

Mark shrugs. “Got a bloody nose in the shower, you know how it is.”

Finstock and Kevin enter the room. Finstock looks at Mark and nods, apparently satisfied. “This guy freaked out, screaming bloody murder and waking the whole motel up! Good thing you’re alright, Mike.”

“Mark,” the rest of them say in unison.

“I’m gonna go smooth it over with the manager,” Finstock says, and marches out of the room.

Stiles shrugs. “I’m pretty sure he still thinks my name is Biles.”

Kevin blinks in surprise at Mark. “You were taking a shower? But— but you weren’t in the bathroom when I walked in earlier!”

Mark raises his eyebrows. “Are you sure? Maybe you didn’t see me behind the curtain.”

Scott notices Stiles tighten his grip on the bat, and he looks at Scott, a quiet question in his eyes.

It is kind of strange, and Kevin is shaking his head, like he doesn’t understand what’s happening. Scott jerks his head in confirmation at Stiles, and mouths “Test?” at him silently.

Stiles shakes his head, jerking it slightly in the direction of their own room.

Right. Okay, well, they’ll just go back and get some and test to see if Mark hasn’t been affected by the ghoul or whatever it was.

Finstock comes back into the room, looking slightly annoyed. “Okay, the manager warned us he can kick us all out if we pull any more ‘pranks’ like that again, so everyone just go to sleep, okay? Mike, you’re fine, everyone’s fine, no need for screaming, but I will take a look at that bloody nose of yours. I _am_ first-aid certified.” Finstock makes a shooing motion towards Scott and Stiles.

Kevin still looks nervous, and Scott isn’t sure he likes the idea of him staying alone with a yet unconfirmed possibly ghoul-affected Mark. “Hey, Kevin, why don’t you come hang out with us for awhile?”

“Yeah, Kev, I brought my Wii, we can play Smash Bros,” Stiles slaps Kevin on the back heartily, and all but drags him out of the room with them.

They climb up the stairs and back to their own room, where Stiles drags the game system out of his bags. They talk a little while about the new Smash Bros and favorite characters, and Kevin seems to relax a bit.  As he sets up the game, Stiles rummages in his other bag, pulling out a few cooking spice containers and shoving them in his pocket. He takes Scott aside, whispering fervently. “Okay, let’s go test this guy out.”

“We’re gonna get some ice. We’ll be right back!” Scott tells Kevin, who nods.

The night air is chilly, and the motel is quiet again. Stiles’ shadow and his baseball bat walks alongside Scott’s own as they make their way back to Kevin and Mark’s room. “So, ghouls… they look like people? That eat people? Are they cannibals?” Scott echoes. Stiles hadn’t talked much about them before.

“No, they’re supernatural,” Stiles mutters. “I knew we were coming on this trip so I prepared my bat just in case. Soaked in the light of three full moons and rubbed down with St. John’s wort.”

“Good thinking.”

Stiles raps on the door. “Hey! Mark! Question for you?”

The door swings open and Stiles pulls a container that says “Cinnamon” from his pocket and tosses the contents in Mark’s face.

Mark stumbles back, blinking furiously. “What the hell, Stilinski!?”

Scott and Stiles both stare at him, apparently unaffected, and then at each other. “Uh, nothing. Prank! Woo!” Stiles says, backing up nervously. “Alright, we’re gonna… go get everyone else now. Bye!”

They race down the side of the motel until they’re out of sight, and Stiles pulls two of the spice containers at his pocket. “Fuck,” he says, staring at the near empty cinnamon container. He shakes another one filled with purple powder, labeled “Thyme.”

“What?”

“That was the wolfsbane. I wanted to use the mistletoe, to reveal a true form.” Stiles frowns. “Well, there aren’t many supernatural creatures that could not react to wolfsbane… then again, I don’t really know if like… if the ghoul bit him he would become a ghoul? Does it need to be an alpha ghoul?”

“Is that a thing?” Scott asks, worried now. He doesn’t even know what ghouls are supposed to look like. Just another person, he guesses. His head is conjuring up rows and rows of teeth, though…

“What are you two out of your rooms for?” Finstock looms behind them. “Get back to sleep! We have a full day tomorrow of professional lacrosse watching!”

“Just getting ice, coach,” Stiles says, pocketing the “spices” quickly. He grabs Scott by the hand and leads him away, towards the ice machine.

The machine rumbles as Scott presses the button for ice, watching the cubes fall into the little tray until Finstock disappears into his own room.

“Alright, let’s go back, I wanna use the mistletoe on Mark—”

“Wait.” Scott steps backward and peers into the darkness of the parking lot. There’s a sliver of an alley between the motel and the laundromat next door, and the unmistakable coppery scent of blood. “Come on.”

They step into the alley, Stiles’ phone lighting up the way.

Scott already knows before he sees it and he swallows, holding Stiles back.

“What the fuck? Mark? But we just—!”

It’s definitely their teammate, a huge gaping wound ripped in his leg, lying in the alleyway. Scott can hear his heartbeat still faintly beating steadily away and takes off his shirt, using it to put pressure on the wound. He motions for Stiles to continue to keep the pressure and moves to checking Mark’s vitals. He’s is sluggish but responsive, groaning in pain.

“Did you see what happened, Mark? How did you…?” Stiles asks.

Mark shakes his head groggily. “No idea. Was gonna take a shower, and cracked open the window...then was on the floor…dragged…”

Scott’s stomach twists in horror. Up until now, the idea of the ghouls was only a possibility, and now, now—

“I’m calling Finstock. He needs to go to the hospital. This is gonna need stitches,” Scott says. He dials quickly and has to hold the phone away from his ear, Finstock is yelling so loudly. He’s on his way to the alley, though.

 Finstock is yelling, rushing through the alleyway. “Mark! Mark! He fell down the stairs when you were getting ice? I can’t believe you’re so clumsy, this close to finals!”

Mark grumbles in a small voice, “Sorry, Coach.”

They tie off Scott’s shirt on Mark’s leg and help him stumble out of the alleyway and into Coach’s van.

Scott clenches his fist. “How do we stop the ghoul? If they’re just out there, trying to eat people—”

“Uh, I was thinking your claws, my bat?” Stiles says shakily. “Wait, if Mark is here— oh, fuck— who did we just talk to in the room?”

They rush back to Mark’s room. Scott doesn’t waste time, just uses his werewolf strength to push through the door.

The room is empty.

“Stiles, when you said the ghouls were… people lookalikes… does that mean…”

“The bestiary was kind of vague, I just thought they looked like people! But they’re…” Stiles’ mouth falls open. “They’re shapeshifters. What if they can look like anyone?”

Upstairs, they can see Danny knocking on their door.

“Kevin!” Stiles gasps.

They rush upstairs, and Danny raises his eyebrows at them. “Hey, guys. Kevin said to come over to play Smash Bros?”

Stiles narrows his eyes and pulls the “Thyme” container out of his pocket, and sprinkles some at Danny.

Danny coughs. “Mistletoe, really? What’s going on?”

“Uh—” Stiles does a doubletake at the mistletoe comment, and looks at Scott, who makes an equally confused look.

The door opens, and Kevin lights up. “Hey, Danny! Oh, good, you guys are back. I figured this way we could have four players, I mean, you did bring all those controllers.”

“Yes, good idea!” Scott says, pushing Danny into the room. “Why don’t you guys text the rest of the team, we’ll have a tournament, and you guys can all stay here! It’s a party!”

Stiles catches on, nodding enthusiastically. “Scott and I are gonna go find everyone. And, uh…” He takes another spice container from his pocket— this one labeled “Garlic Salt” and creates a solid line in the doorway.

Danny nods with understanding, face serious, pulling out his phone— and texting the lacrosse team, it looks like. “Cool. We’ll stay here. C’mon Kev, I wanna be Jigglypuff.” He looks up when he sees Scott and Stiles still staring at him. “Go on, go do your thing.”

Not for the first time, Scott wonders how much Danny knows exactly about all the supernatural stuff.

They try searching the motel, following the trace of the sulfur smell, and checking every person with a bit of mistletoe, but everyone seems to be who they say they are.

“Should we check the other rooms?”

“I calling Deaton,” Scott says. “He was the one who told you about the St. John’s wort, right?”

“Not really,” Stiles says sheepishly. “I was just doing independent reading…you know how vague he is sometimes! I bet he was just going to say, ‘Ghouls are strange, you know, I haven’t come across many of them in my travels,’ or maybe about how they aren’t that dangerous...”

Deaton picks up and Scott holds up a hand so he can explain what’s happening, and turns the phone on speaker so Stiles can hear too. After a few hmms and ahs, Deaton says, “Stiles was correct, there is a high population of them in San Francisco, but they usually aren’t that dangerous.”

Stiles jumps up, pointing at the phone.

“They usually take professions with access to the dead, morticians and the like, to feed their appetite for flesh, and keep to themselves, really. How big did the wound you say was on your friend?”

Scott describes the size of the bite on Mark’s leg.

“Ah, it sounds like a juvenile, possibly. I can talk to my contacts, send someone over to you who can help. In the meantime, you can subdue the ghoul with St. John’s wort, or even better, something made of oak that has—”

“Got it,” Stiles says smugly, holding up his bat.

“Okay, thanks Deaton, I’ll text you the address of the motel.”

Scott hangs up and types the address as well, sending it off.

“Uh, Scott?”

“Yeah.”

Stiles pushes his phone in Scott’s face. It’s his texting thread with Danny, the most recent talking about taking Mark to the hospital, Danny saying he’s organizing a get well soon card with the guys in the room, Danny saying he’s kicking ass at Smash Bros, and then… Danny asking if Mark came back early from the hospital.

They rush back upstairs to their room, and sure enough… “Mark” is standing outside, looking forlornly inside the window at the boys playing video games inside.

“Hey! You!” Stiles shouts, shaking the mistletoe at him.

Mark’s figure ripples, like air above a flame, and suddenly he isn’t there anymore, he’s shrinking, and reforming into a faint gray mass. The ghoul doesn’t seem to have eyes or a form, really, just seems to be wisps of gray. And a huge mouth, opening now to reveal a number of sharp, pointed teeth.

The ghoul turns to look at them, and makes a sharp screeching noise of surprise, dashing away.

Scott and Stiles chase the ghoul down the stairs, and out onto the street.

“Which way did it—”

Scott catches the scent of sulfur and races forward. Stiles is panting, trying to keep up behind him as they race through the empty street. The motel was a cheap one; it’s in some sort of industrial outskirts of the city, and no one is outside, no cars are driving past.

The ghoul screeches, catching sight of Scott, but they’ve got it cornered now at the end of an alley.

Stiles comes to a halt next to him and leaps in front of Scott, brandishing his bat.

The ghoul opens its gaping maw, and then the gray mass starts expanding, growing to over ten feet tall, looming forward.

Scott has seen some terrifying things in his lifetime. He’s handled them as best he could, but right now Stiles is between him and danger, Stiles who he could lose to another college, miles away, Stiles who he loves more than as a friend, who he needs—

art by [significantsilence](http://significantsilence.tumblr.com)

~

 

Scott grabs Stiles by the hand and pulls him back to his side. Stiles turns to look at him and nods, squeezing back. It feels natural to lace their fingers together, and Scott feels stronger, like he could take on anything in this moment. They look up at the ghoul together, bracing themselves for an attack, a threat, anything.

The ghoul makes a rasping, hissing noise through its large mouth. It keeps shaking, like it’s straining to shift this large, and then it _collapses,_ in a gray smoky cloud smelling strongly of sulfur. The mass is falling into itself, shrinking until it’s the size of a toddler.

The ghoul shudders, and —

— seems to break into sobs.

“Is the ghoul… crying?” Stiles asks, looking at Scott.

The huddle of gray is wailing, shaking itself back and forth. “Hey,” Scott says, trying to inject sternness into his voice. He lets go of Stiles, stepping closer.

“Scott—”

Stiles reaches to grab Scott’s shirt, to pull him back, but Scott’s instinct is that the ghoul isn’t a threat right now. He crouches down to the ghoul’s height, trying to look into where he thinks the face is. _Kind of like a Dementor,_ he thinks. _A baby one._

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says. It’s a good place to start.

The ghoul wobbles a little, reaching out hesitantly.

“Do you understand me? Do you know what’s been happening tonight?”

The ghoul nods.

“You hurt Mark,” Stiles says. “You chomped on his leg. Isn’t there like a ghoul code or something? Deaton said you guys just eat dead people.”

The air around the ghoul shimmers again, and then Mark is standing there, looking guilty. “I was hungry,” he says pitifully. “I didn’t know what to do.”

Something in the tone of the ghoul’s voice makes Scott pause. “How old are you?”

The ghoul wipes Mark’s face, wet with tears, and holds out an open hand.

Five. It’s a kid, really.

“You can’t just— go around biting other peoples’ legs! And you— you knew my name, when you were pretending to be Mark, how?” Stiles glares at the ghoul-child, and Scott waves at him to calm down.

“I— I was hungry— and he, he, when I—” the ghoul hiccups here— “I can see his memories, when I’m him. I don’t understand all of them. But I know you’re Scott. Team captain.” He points behind Scott. “Stiles. Captain’s boyfriend.”

Stiles makes a strange noise behind him, and Scott ignores it in favor of looking at the Mark’s face, sad and dejected on the ghoul. “Well, we have someone on their way to the motel to help. Another one of you guys, I think. Come on back with us, it’s going to be okay.”

The ghoul sniffles, but follows Scott and Stiles back to the motel.

There’s a woman in the parking lot, leaning against a car, looking alert and worried. When she sees them she rushes forward and envelops their ghoul in a tight hug, making worried screeching noises.

The baby ghoul shifts out of Mark’s body and back into the small blob, and looks suitably chastened, screeching back guiltily.

The woman turns to look at Scott, bowing her head. “Thank you for finding K’loshek,” she says gratefully. “I had feared the worst— hunters, or that he’d be hungry—”

“He was hungry,” Stiles says darkly. “He took a bite out of one of our friends.”

She frowns, tightening her grip on the young ghoul, and starts hissing to him rapidly in the screechy language.

K’loshek shrinks and shrinks and finally the lecture seems to stop.

“I am Lweyll, but most humans call me Sarah. I’m sorry for the inconvenience. Our little enclave just tries to do our best to live in the human world.” She holds out her hand to Scott. “I’m grateful I can return K’loshek to his mother.”

Scott shakes her hand, not missing the implied— _alive—_ that she didn’t say. “I’m just glad we could help.”

Lweyll nods and holds out her hand to Stiles, who shakes it warily.

She hands Scott a business card that reads _Sarah Landon, M.E._ “I can help pay for your friend’s medical treatment, just let me know. You have my deepest apologies for the situation, if you ever have need of a pack of ghouls, feel free to let me know, Alpha McCall of Beacon Hills.”

“Thanks,” Scott says.

Lwyell takes K’loshek to her car, and they both give a little wave before driving off.

“Well, that was… interesting,” Stiles says, huffing a relieved sigh. “I’m glad it’s over.”

“Yeah.”

Scott looks up towards their room, which is one of the few rooms in the motel whose lights are on. The curtains are open, and he can see most of the lacrosse team inside, whooping and hollering at the TV.

“C’mon, let’s just get a key to Mark’s room or something.”

Stiles leads Scott to the manager’s office, where he easily gets an extra key to the other room. It’s blissfully silent, and they both flop onto the beds, thinking.

Stiles breaks the silence first. “I’m sorry if that was weird.”

Scott turns to look at him. “What? No, you were great. If you hadn’t been prepared, things could have been a lot worse.”

“No, I mean, K’loshek said… when he was in Mark’s memories, that is. Um. The reason why he thought that was because Mark asked me out last week and I said no, and he was all like, ‘but we like each other, and I like you,’ and I didn’t want to be a dick about it so I just said I was dating you.” Stiles rushes through the words, his scent going sweet with embarrassment. Stiles waves haphazardly at the air. “So. Yeah, sorry about that.”

“I… why would you think I think that was weird?”

Stiles shrugs, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to his chest. “I dunno.”

“Stiles, I don’t think it would be weird at all. I actually, um, was trying to tell you before all this got started, that I— I want to—” He tries to swallow down his nerves. His heart is beating so fast. Why is this so difficult? “I don’t mind that people think we’re dating. Maybe the only reason it would bother me is that… we aren’t dating. And I want to.”

Stiles sits upright, staring at Scott in disbelief. The silence is deafening, and Scott has no idea what is happening or going through Stiles’ mind right now, he’s just _looking_ at Scott.

“So, so earlier when you said you loved me— you meant it like, not just in the best-friend way— but like— in the I want to kiss you way?” Stiles squeaks.

Scott nods.

Stiles stands up. “Yes! Yes, okay, good, I— yes! Scott— you, me, I—” he crosses over to the bed Scott’s sitting on and plops on it, grinning wildly. “I love you too. Like that. Yes.”

A warmth of happiness surges through Scott, and he can’t help but do anything but smile back. They both look at each other giddily until they burst out laughing and then Stiles rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “So we could— we could kiss, then.”

“We could,” Scott agrees.

Somehow stating it aloud makes it seem more daunting. Stiles is sitting there on the bed next to him, a faint blush on his cheeks, waiting expectantly. Scott moves forward, and then Stiles does, and their noses bump, sending them into fits of laughter again.

“Remember when we were eleven?” Scott asks.

Stiles had been ranting about kisses and people talking about first kisses and Scott had suggested they kiss, just to see what it was like. He remembers it had been short and wet, and the two of them had just laughed and agreed that video games was more fun.

Stiles grins. “Yeah, that was easy. I don’t know why… oh man. I’ve been thinking about kissing you for a long time.”

“Really?”

It’s easy then, just to lay down, and Stiles to lay next to him. They talk for awhile, and it’s nothing but relief and excitement about what’s to come. It’s comfortable, like everything that’s come before, and when there’s a lull in the conversation, Stiles looks at him, and Scott leans forward. Their lips meet in a soft kiss, and it feels like home.

 

* * *

 

They’re teased a lot on the trip back to Beacon Hills, for throwing a party and then leaving it for “alone time” in someone else’s room. Mark recovers and cheers them on at the finals, and Deaton congratulates Scott for having made an alliance with the ghouls in San Francisco (apparently they’re quite difficult).

Somehow life isn’t all that different. There are still classes to go to (although senioritis is starting to kick in pretty hard), Liam to mentor, homework to do, working for Deaton.

And yet it is.

Scott’s alarm goes off, as it usually does, at 6AM in the morning, so he has enough time to get ready for zero period.

“Nooo, make it stop,” Stiles grumbles, throwing an arm over Scott’s chest.

Scott chuckles, pushing Stiles’ arm off him and puts a pillow in place, so he can start his morning routine.

“Five more minutes,” Stiles says sleepily, curling around the pillow

Scott kisses him on the forehead and then heads to the bathroom, brushing his teeth. He comes back and gets started on his morning workout: crunches, push ups, and pull ups on his bar.

“You need to wake up too, we don’t want to get to school late,” Scott teases.

Stiles blinks awake, watching him do pull-up after pull-up. “You are the one waking up ridiculously early just so you can workout.”

“Uh huh.”

Stiles watches him lazily, a contented smile on his face. He finally gets going when Scott gets to his homework check and morning email check, just to make sure he hasn’t missed anything.

“Stiles,” Scott says in shock.

Stiles comes out of the bathroom with a toothbrush in his mouth. “What?”

“I got in! I got in Berkeley!”

Stiles spits out the toothbrush and wipes his chin hastily with his arm, yelping, “Scott! YES!” He grabs Scott by the waist and tries to twirl him, only they both end up tumbling to the floor, laughing with joy. They’re hopelessly tangled, and Scott can’t stop smiling; he can see the future stretch out before him endlessly.

And it’s a good one.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You can find me on tumblr [here,](http://bleep0bleep.tumblr.com) and the lovely artist significantsilence [here.](http://significantsilence.tumblr.com)


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